


Rumblings Beneath the Surface

by giddytf2



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mermen, Bottom Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Fluff, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Humor, Infertility, Insecure Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion Has Feelings, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Light Angst, M/M, Merman Geralt, OTP Feels, POV Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion, Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Top Jaskier | Dandelion, merman Jaskier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:00:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26568436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/giddytf2/pseuds/giddytf2
Summary: Geralt had lived alone here on this small scrap of seabed for decades, avoiding other merfolk. But even he remembered how the oldest dance of their kind—the most sought after, most pleasurable—always began: with a meeting, a blatant display of one’s tail to a potential mate.A sultry glance over a shoulder, like the one the merman was bestowing upon him now with heavy-lidded, gleaming eyes.A deliberate, rhythmic flutter of those fragile, ruffled fins, of that splendid tail fin.___________________________________Merman Geralt is a big, old, crotchety seahorse ranch owner. He's fine, just fine, existing alone with his seahorses under the sea. Then he catches a big-mouthed, baby-faced merman trying to steal his seahorse while in disguise.(Originally a Twitter fic at@giddytf2, edited and reformatted for easier reading here on AO3.)
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 20
Kudos: 525
Collections: Geralt x Jaskier, The Witcher Alternate Universes





	Rumblings Beneath the Surface

**Author's Note:**

> Two milestones for me achieved after writing this story--my very first merman!AU story, and also my very first time writing bottom!Geralt. 😈 Oh yeah. I'd originally planned to write this as a short PWP story, but geraskier feels took over, and it exploded into an 8000+ word beast. Enjoy!

Geralt's eyes snapped open in the dimness of his nest. He stayed still, his thick tail curled up to his body, his white hair floating in the water. Something woke him up. A loud sound. What was it? Rocks crumbling into the deep? A whale call—

He shot upright.

No. It was Roach.

Someone had trespassed into his territory.

Someone was trying to steal Roach.

With a resonant snarl, he propelled himself out of his nest, his cave, into the open water. His herd of seahorses were going berserk in their coral pen, neighing and stampeding in the spacious area.

But the trespasser wasn't in the pen. They were in Roach's stable, attempting to fasten a kelp bridle around the thrashing seahorse's head.

The brazen, rotten _scum!_

Geralt launched himself across the cleared space between the cave and stable. He was swift despite his bulk.

The trespasser had wrapped black swaths of seaweed around their head, upper body, and tail. Geralt grabbed at the ones around a pale, slim waist with both hands, yanking the trespasser away from Roach.

The trespasser let out a yelp with a low, sonorous voice.

"Oi! Let me _go!_ "

Geralt bared his fangs and let out an even louder snarl. He seized the seaweed covering the other merman's head. The nerve of this _thief_ to demand to be released! After trying to steal his most beloved seahorse!

He ripped away the damn seaweed.

And he froze, his jaw sagging.

He'd expected a much older merman. Perhaps one scarred and cold-eyed like him, with nothing to lose but the simple affection of seahorses. Perhaps one who would finally slay an aberration like him and lay him to rest.

But the merman now in his hands was—beautiful. Stunningly so.

Large blue eyes stared up at him from an ageless, smooth face. Dark, medium-length locks of hair formed an undulating halo as the beautiful merman tilted his head. Dark pink, plump lips parted into an enticing pout.

Swaths of seaweed fell away from the merman’s upper body.

Geralt’s eyes flickered down the merman’s face. Down a long, pale neck to—

On their own volition, his amber eyes widened with surprise.

“Oh, for gods’ sakes! Yes, I really _am_ that hirsute, and I’m proud of it!”

Geralt’s eyes snapped back to the merman’s face. The merman huffed.

“I’m not the only hirsute merman here, am I?” The merman rested slender hands on slim hips covered in dazzling, iridescent scales, sinewy arms akimbo. “So you shouldn’t judge me for it!”

“But I—”

“Furthermore, I think it enhances a merman’s attractiveness, not detract from it!”

“I—”

“ _Furthermore_ , I don’t care if other merfolk think it’s some sort of _ugly anomaly_ , I’m never shaving it off, and you should say sorry to me!”

Geralt gaped at the other merman for five whole seconds of stunned silence. Then he flung up his hands in the water, still gaping.

He gestured at Roach who was glaring daggers at the seahorse thief.

“I’m—” Geralt pointed at his own chest with a thumb. “ _I’m_ the one who should be outraged here! _You_ tried to _steal my seahorse!_ ”

The merman’s deliciously plump lips jutted out in an even more enticing pout.

“No, I wasn’t.”

Geralt stared at the pouting merman. Then he stared over the merman’s bare shoulder at Roach who looked one second away from sucking the merman’s head into her snout and disintegrating it. Then he stared at the merman again.

“Yes, you were,” he growled, glaring.

“No, I wasn’t.”

Geralt clenched his hands at his sides. Snarled through gritted teeth. “Yes, you were!”

“No, I wasn’t!” The merman rolled those lovely blue eyes and huffed again. “I was _pretending_ to steal your seahorse to get your attention, you big, old, cantankerous loner!”

Geralt’s vexation leaked from him like water from a pufferfish’s stomach. His hands loosened. His glare softened to a frown of utter bafflement. The silver edges of his tail idly swept the seabed.

“Hmmn?”

In response to his grunt, the merman tore away the rest of the seaweed.

Again, Geralt’s jaw sagged. He’d been wrong to call this merman beautiful: it did no justice to the magnificent tail revealed under mild light streaking down from the Surface. Unlike his black tail with smatterings of silver and gold, the tail he beheld was a riot of colors. Bright red and teal scales sparkled in patches around the merman’s hips and down an elegant, golden length flanked by wide, ruffled, translucent fins. Rich blue and green scales mottled the tail’s lower half.

Geralt had never seen another merperson with such side fins before.

Geralt had never seen such a stupendously broad, ruffled tail fin either, streaked with shimmering turquoise upon blended shades of red and gold. It flooded Geralt with longing just to view it. It swished through the water with a grace that made something deep within his chest ache.

That ache worsened as he helplessly watched the merman fold those sinewy arms tight in a cross to that hirsute chest, then slowly spin around once with the same grace, flaunting that tail. Blood rushed through his ears, his whole body. His tail twitched hard. His eyes widened.

Geralt had lived alone here on this small scrap of seabed for decades, avoiding other merfolk. But even he remembered how the oldest dance of their kind—the most sought after, most pleasurable—always began: with a meeting, a blatant display of one’s tail to a potential mate.

A sultry glance over a shoulder, like the one the merman was bestowing upon him now with heavy-lidded, gleaming eyes.

A deliberate, rhythmic flutter of those fragile, ruffled fins, of that splendid tail fin.

Gods, the merman had told the truth—he _wasn’t_ a seahorse thief.

No, this beautiful merman was an utterly barmy creature who thought a _mutant_ like him was worthy as a mate at all. Did the merman not see how scarred, ugly and _wrong_ he appeared?

His throat constricted and stole his voice as the merman closed the short distance between them.

He was powerless under that seductive gaze that held him in place with burgeoning longing and lust. He was—not afraid to be so, in the presence of this barmy, glorious creature who raised those slender hands to his chest. Scratched gently at his sparse, dark grey chest hair.

“You see me now. Don’t you?”

Geralt wanted to say, _I’m not worthy of you._ To snarl, _leave me, and find someone as beautiful as you._ To yell, _I’m a monster._

But he still hadn’t regained his voice.

So he shook his head once, his lips pressed together into a thin line.

He jolted at the fierce smack to his chest.

“Stop that, you broody, gorgeous oaf! I know what you’re thinking.”

Geralt stared with wide eyes into those large blue ones now glowering at him.

“I can _see_ those gloom-ridden, self-deprecating thoughts of yours from fathoms away!”

Geralt blinked. “I—”

“Do you know how long I’ve been eyeing you? Trying to get your attention, hm?!”

“What—”

The merman raised a hand and counted off with his fingers.

“First, I tried the good ol’ tactic of swimming up to your cave and saying hello. But you told me to fuck off.”

Geralt blinked again.

“What,” he grunted.

“Granted, it was during sleep-time and I’d consumed far too many dream fishes for my own good to gain the courage to say hello to you, and I probably came across as the delirious, raving merman I must surely have been.”

Geralt stared.

He stared—and recalled the annoying, bizarre incident that’d occurred sixteen cycles ago, when he’d been awakened by what sounded like a merman absolutely blotto. He hadn’t bothered to even lift his head from his nest. He’d just roared, “Fuck off and don’t touch my seahorses!”

Huffed and gone right back to sleep.

“ _So_ , after that, I reckoned you were probably more of the sort who liked _gifts!_ ” The merman flicked up another finger. Made a face that did funny things to Geralt’s insides. “But, you—didn’t like them either.”

“Gifts?” Geralt muttered.

The other merman let out a dramatic, forlorn sigh that would have been irritating from someone else. But from him it was—cute?

“Yes. Like the necklace of pretty shells I thought matched your pretty eyes. And the love poem I’d carved onto a stone tablet.”

Geralt stared. Very hard.

Yes—yes, he _had_ come across a necklace of shells at the entrance of his cave twelve cycles ago. He’d picked it up, scowled at it thinking it’d been dropped by some random mermaid traveling past his ranch. And he’d thrown it away, grumbling to himself about pesky litterers.

As for the _love poem_ on a stone tablet—yes. Yes, he had also come across such a thing while he was tending to Roach here in her stable. He’d taken one glance at its ridiculous lines, and chucked it away too.

How was he supposed to know “gorgeous good looker” was about him?!

“ _Sooo_ , after _that_ , I went with my—” The merman wrinkled his nose. “Well, it’d been my last resort at the time, but then I thought about pretending to be a seahorse thief and—”

“And you sang for me,” Geralt said, his shoulders slumped, his face and voice softening with regret.

The other merman slowly lowered his hand, his sweet face also softening.

“Yes,” he murmured. Then he lowered those blue eyes, a despondent smile touching those plump lips. “And you didn’t like my singing either.”

“No,” Geralt blurted out.

The merman misunderstood, and winced.

Geralt squeezed his eyes shut. Opened them, then said, “No, I meant—that isn’t true.”

The other merman glanced up at him with round eyes. He felt the brilliant hope that suffused that ageless, sweet face like a sharpened stone stabbing his chest.

“I heard you, from my nest. You—” Geralt swallowed hard. “Your voice is as beautiful as the rest of you. I heard you, but I thought—”

He was here in Roach’s stable, and yet he was also in the past, curled up in his nest. Listening to that low, sonorous voice singing that sublime song of eternal loyalty and love. Listening to it sing from a distance, and believing without doubt that the merman was singing for someone else. That such a song, replete with the promise of happiness and no more loneliness, was never meant for him.

“Who would sing for a scarred, ugly mutant of a merman like me?”

In another crueler life, this was the moment the beautiful merman would come to his senses and leave. In this life that’d been already cruel enough for Geralt, he stiffened as the other merman touched his cheek with those slender fingers.

Waited for the shove that never came.

“See? All those gloom-ridden, self-deprecating thoughts.” A tender smile quirked up those plump lips. “You wear them on your gorgeous face so often, when you think no one can see them.”

A shiver zigzagged down Geralt’s spine when he felt the other merman’s tail fin brush his.

The other merman leaned forward to whisper into his ear, “I meant every word in my song for you.”

Geralt shivered again. He grazed his black tail against that dazzling, iridescent one. Stroked those translucent side fins.

Gasped at the sudden tug that loosened his necklace.

The beautiful, _naughty_ merman retreated with a smirk, twirling the near century-old necklace and its medallion with its carved image of a snarling shark.

“You want this back, you big, grumpy boor? Then come get it.”

In a blink, the merman was gone from the stable, leaving an amazed Geralt in his wake. Geralt was truly impressed with the merman’s swimming speed. Even Roach appeared impressed, blowing out a stream of bubbles from her snout.

He stared at his beloved seahorse. She stared back.

On their own volition, his lips began to tremor. To curl up.

Oh yes, he remembered how this oldest dance of their kind went: after the meeting, the display of one’s tail, came the thrill for any merfolk with hunting in their blood.

The chase.

The chase—and the capture of a desired mate, who desired him in return.

Roach blew more bubbles.

He accepted them for the blessing they were.

With a wide grin and growl, he whirled around and launched himself out of the stable and up into higher waters, honing his sight on the other merman’s shimmering scales in seconds. The merman hadn’t gotten far despite his hasty start.

He lingered on the marked boundary of Geralt’s territory, returning Geralt’s gaze with that mischievous smirk and raised eyebrows.

Something very rare and distantly familiar rumbled in Geralt’s chest at the merman sticking out a pink tongue at him between those delectable lips.

Oh, so the little, wild horror thought he could outswim Geralt? Geralt, who had been the champion swimmer in the School of the Shark in all his years there? Who had broken his mentor Vesemir’s centuries-old record?

It was possible.

But with such high stakes—Geralt was faster.

This barmy, beautiful, glorious merman was destined to be his.

He shot through the water in an unerring path towards the other merman. That rare, rumbling thing in his chest exploded from his mouth as an exhilarated laugh at the equally exhilarated shriek from the other merman. His fingers missed the other merman’s frantically waving, ruffled tail fin by a hand’s breadth.

He swooped after him, down the slope of the valley beyond his territory. The merman tried to lose him in the dense kelp forest at the bottom but those iridescent scales gave him away. The euphoric grin refused to depart from Geralt’s face. He almost had the merman’s broad tail fin in his grasp again, this time missing by a mere thumb’s width.

It didn’t escape his notice that the merman was swimming back towards his ranch. Staying close to his territory. Telling him with this one gesture that he wanted to be captured. That he wanted _Geralt_ , and no one else, to capture him.

Not that he was making it easy for Geralt.

They swooped and dived through the water in extensive circles. They hurtled through narrow gaps between rocks. They smashed into frenzied schools of fish and scarcely missed slamming into the seabed more than a few times. Back on the ranch, Geralt almost collided headlong into his coral pen of seahorses, so swift was the other merman’s last-second maneuver to deflect him.

He was in awe.

He was already so enamored with this blue-eyed, dark-haired merman.

He was lost, even as his hands triumphantly fastened around the other merman’s tail at last.

The merman cried out with a gut-deep elation that Geralt felt from the crown of his head to the tips of his tail fin. He tugged the laughing merman tight to his body. He wrapped his arms around that lean upper body, and nuzzled that long, pale neck, pressing the tips of his fangs to such luscious flesh. He rumbled with gratification at sinewy arms wrapping just as tight around his shoulders.

They gyrated through the water, their tails entwined, their bodies molded from head to tail fin. Geralt ensured he was the one who landed back first on the seabed near the entrance of his cave. He slowly rolled them over, using his burly weight to press the other merman down.

He could see the pure pleasure in those wide blue eyes at that. He propped himself up on his elbows to gaze down at the other merman. At _his_ merman.

At his _mate_.

"Do I please you?"

What response could he give that would be worthy of the rasped question? What could he say?

The merman was grasping his necklace to that hirsute chest. He gently took it back, resting the old medallion on his palm. He gazed down at it. Then he gazed down at that ingenuous, sweet face—and he knew what to do.

He nudged the other merman’s nape. The merman raised his head.

Bright eyes as blue as their world stared up at him. Those eyes widened as he pulled the necklace’s kelp strings around that long neck with its precious pulse. He stared back into them while he tied the strings together.

The beautiful merman touched the medallion after he was done.

This time, the merman understood without needing any words from Geralt.

Those pretty eyes crinkled at the corners in a gratified smile. Those wide, ruffled side fins caressed Geralt’s flanks and smaller, silver side fins.

He stroked the merman’s cheek with a thumb.

After the chase was the most significant stage of the mating dance: the sharing of names. The mere act of keeping one’s name from the other at this point was tantamount to instant rejection.

Geralt had no intention of ever spurning his cherished mate.

They had found each other.

“My name is Geralt.”

It was the name given to him by his mother who he never knew. It was the only name he’d ever known. It was an ordinary name to him.

But to this merman, it seemed anything but ordinary.

A tremulous albeit ecstatic smile lit up that ageless, sweet face.

Those affectionate, slender fingers caressed his cheeks with a reverence reserved for gods and not for flawed, aberrant creatures like him.

"My name is Jaskier,” the merman said, steady voice belied by trembling lips and his throat bobbing.

Jaskier.

His mate’s name was Jaskier.

It was a beautiful name. It was as beautiful as its possessor.

It brought to Geralt’s mind the warmth of the light from high above the Surface. The calming undulations of the sea under that light. The blooming of vibrant sea anemones, alluring as they were lethal.

Jaskier.

“Jaskier,” he said, and the hallowed name settled into its fated place on his tongue, in his heart.

“Geralt,” his perfect mate murmured. His ordinary name became extraordinary upon those dark pink, kissable lips.

He drew Jaskier back into his embrace. They floated off the seabed.

Their tails entwined once more. They spun languidly through the water, with Geralt guiding them through his cave’s algae-garlanded entrance to his nest. The weaved seagrass was soft after so many cycles of slumber upon it. Geralt had to replace it soon—by the next cycle, surely.

By the time he and Jaskier were sated, his nest was probably going to be a frayed mess from their writhing bodies and flailing fins.

He wanted so badly to feel Jaskier inside him.

It would be the first time he allowed anyone to penetrate him, and there was no one else he desired.

He also wanted so badly to thrust his cock into Jaskier’s pleasing body. To feel the sides of Jaskier’s slit puff up around him and lock him in, feel Jaskier’s inner passage flutter and tighten around him. To feel that splendid tail and its ruffled fins thrash against him.

He rolled them over so Jaskier was on top of him on the nest. He settled onto the weaved seagrass, relaxing his whole body, baring his neck.

It’d been so long since he last copulated: the mermaid had arched her neck the same way, although he knew it was just performance. He had to pay her with a few shiny gemstones before she’d permitted him to touch her at all.

But Jaskier didn’t demand for anything from him. Jaskier let out a gasp as if he’d been punched in the belly.

“You— _you_ want to be the one to—”

Geralt’s brow furrowed with a mild frown.

“Yes,” Geralt replied. He blinked. “Do you want _me_ inside you instead?”

“Yes! Oh gods, _yes_. Many, many times.” To Geralt’s amusement, Jaskier slapped both hands over his own face in unnecessary embarrassment. “I just mean, I didn’t think—I never thought someone like _you_ —”

Jaskier lowered his hands to gesture at Geralt’s burly upper body and black, thick tail.

“I thought you were an utter top,” Jaskier said, making an abashed face. “That, well, you would never let me—what with all the sexy scars, the very big, _lovely_ muscles, and the _grr_ face.”

Geralt’s eyebrows shot up. _Grr_ face?

“You are the handsomest merman I’ve ever seen in my life but yes, you also have a scary face that puts the fear of the Abyss in anyone who sees it.” Jaskier wrinkled his nose, his eyes twinkling. “Except me, that is.”

Geralt’s lips tremored.

He wasn’t about to protest his—scary _grr_ face. He _had_ used it to frighten off other merfolk whenever he felt anti-social. Which was almost all of the time. And his seahorses didn’t care what expression he had: they knew he tended to them through his actions, not his face.

“You’re right,” he murmured. “I’ve never let anyone inside me.”

Jaskier’s eyes widened. He pointed at his own chest with a forefinger. “But—me?”

Geralt’s chest expanded with cool water and a warmth that sprung up from within him.

“Yes. You, Jaskier.”

“Oh.” Jaskier gulped. “Good.” Jaskier averted his face. Bit that plump lower lip, then said, “Then you should know, I’ve—never had anyone inside me either.”

Geralt couldn’t stop the rumble of satisfaction from escaping his chest.

“I’ve, well, never actually copulated.” Jaskier refused to look at him. “Ever.”

It took a while for the timid words to sink in. Geralt gaped up at Jaskier. His wide eyes skimmed the exquisite length of his mate’s body from head to tail fin—and he couldn’t believe those words.

How was it possible that Jaskier never copulated? That no one was interested? Were the merfolk in Jaskier’s colony all blind? Were they so prejudiced towards hirsute merfolk that mere body hair was enough reason for rejection?

“It wasn’t that I didn’t want to.” Jaskier sighed heavily. “But my parents were desperate to match me to _Valdo_. That pillock!”

Geralt made a mental note to find this Valdo and rip him from limb to tail.

“It was—” Jaskier reared back and flailed his hands in the water, letting out a frustrated snarl. Geralt found it very attractive. “Some _stupid_ plan to unify both kingdoms! Bloody greedy, all of them!”

Geralt blinked once. Twice.

What?

_Kingdoms?_

“I’ve _hated_ him since we were hatchlings.” Jaskier rolled his eyes. “Ugh! He’s so _envious_ of my tail, and my singing! He’s always challenging me to contests during those _dull_ royal feasts at his palace. He never learns.”

Geralt was glad he was lying down in his nest. He would have floated away into the Abyss otherwise, so shocked was he by the latest revelation about his beautiful, virgin mate.

Jaskier was no seahorse thief.

Jaskier was no ordinary merman.

“You’re a prince,” Geralt rasped.

Jaskier shut those pretty blue eyes with a heaving sigh. Then he opened them to half-mast, his expression dour, and he droned, “His Royal Highness Jaskier Julian Alfred Pankratz of Lettenhove.” He rolled his eyes yet again. “ _Ugh!_ ”

Geralt couldn’t tell if he was dreaming.

Perhaps _he_ was the one who’d eaten too many dream fishes for his own good, and he was actually curled up right here in his nest, dreaming about meeting the prince of Lettenhove and mating with him.

How else could something that unbelievable happen to an outcast like him?

“Oh, no. No, no, no.” Jaskier lowered himself until their hairy chests were pressed together. “I know what you’re thinking, you crotchety, silly merman.”

Geralt was still coping with the magnitude of _royalty_ choosing him for anything, much less Jaskier’s dense chest hair.

“You’re not dreaming, Geralt.” Jaskier touched the tip of that endearing nose to his. “This is real. I’m real. You’re real.”

“But—you’re a prince,” Geralt whispered.

Jaskier drew back, then glowered down at him. The glower was nowhere as scary as his own. It was charming.

“And?”

“Jaskier, you’re a _prince_. I’m an outcast.” Geralt had to force himself to not shut his eyes. “You can see that. My—amber eyes. And my hair.”

Jaskier’s eyes narrowed.

“ _And?_ Am I supposed to swim away now? Because you’re different from other merfolk?”

Geralt should say yes.

He should. If he was a better merman, he would, and Jaskier would be free to be with one so much more worthy of a beautiful, glorious prince like him.

But he wasn’t.

He’d shared his name with Jaskier—and Jaskier had shared his name with him.

He blinked up at Jaskier, eyes wide.

Oh, Jaskier had shared his name with him, even knowing his outcast status.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Jaskier said, his expression resolute. “You’re mine.”

Those two words struck Geralt in the chest like daggers, bleeding him dry of his heartache.

“You’re _mine_ , Geralt. I chose you.”

Jaskier ran those slender fingers through the floating tendrils of his white hair. Jaskier’s expression was tender again.

“The first time I saw you, you were idling under that tall rock arch while your seahorse was grazing,” Jaskier murmured. “Hovering in that corner. Brooding.”

Geralt couldn’t recall this, for he took Roach out to graze every cycle at that location. It was an isolated place where he could—meditate. Not brood.

“You were fathoms away in your mind. You had no idea how the light from the Surface turned your hair into a radiant crown.”

Jaskier leaned down and pressed their foreheads together. Those ruffled, translucent side fins caressed his scarred arms and flanks.

“I’ve lived my whole life surrounded by precious stones and treasures from the Surface,” Jaskier whispered. “But none of them compare to you.”

Geralt swallowed past the jagged rock in his throat.

“Even before I hatched, everything was chosen for me. My chamber. My gems. My social status. My court.” Jaskier sighed. “Do you understand? I’m different from other merfolk too. And for once, I chose for myself. I chose _you_.”

Geralt swallowed hard again. He stared up into Jaskier’s heavy-lidded, blue eyes.

It was time for him to make his own choice.

By the traditions of their kind, he could still reject Jaskier since they hadn’t copulated yet to affirm their mating bond. Even a prince wasn’t exempt.

Or—he could say what he wished he had said when he’d laid eyes upon Jaskier for the very first time.

He carded his fingers through Jaskier’s dark, dense chest hair. Dragged his fingernails down Jaskier’s lean, trembling torso. Down, down, down to that opening, swelling slit.

Jaskier’s cock was already peeking out when Geralt’s fingers brushed his slit’s puffed-up lips. They framed such a pleasing, rounded head. The instant Geralt touched it, the flushed, smooth length of Jaskier’s cock sprang out in full.

“Jaskier,” he growled. “Get inside me. Now.”

He arched his neck again. Turned his head to one side so his throat was bared to Jaskier.His lips parted in a silent groan as his own slit opened and expanded, pushing aside the black scales that had covered it. His hard cock was nestled in its inner sac inside him, throbbing.

He kept it inside. Under the sealed opening of that inner sac was another orifice. Its brim swelled like the lips of his slit with engorged blood, and his groan now was audible, echoing through the cave.

Gods, it already felt good. He was going to feel even better very soon.

“Jaskier,” he gasped.

They moaned in unison as the head of Jaskier’s cock prodded at his eager, yielding orifice. Jaskier swooped down, and a convulsion of pleasure shook Geralt’s body when Jaskier mouthed at his bared throat. Pressed short fangs to his skin.

Those fangs sank in.

With one thrust, half of Jaskier’s rigid cock was buried inside him. There was no resistance. No pain at all. He’d fingered himself before, even carved and polished a stone into a dildo to bring himself off.

But none of it prepared him for the overwhelming pleasure he felt now.

A lustful cry tore out of his throat held willing captive in Jaskier’s jaws. He grabbed at Jaskier’s hair with one hand and clawed at Jaskier’s tense shoulder with the other. He bowed up under Jaskier—and the rest of his mate’s rock-hard cock slammed into him to the hilt.

Jaskier moaned like he was dying on a surfeit of bliss. Geralt stared sightlessly up at the ceiling of the cave, his mouth open, his lips quivering. Jaskier’s tail coiled around his, but he couldn’t remember how to move any of his limbs anymore. His whole body, his fins quaked.

Nothing had penetrated him so deep before. Nothing had felt so _good_ before.

Jaskier’s cock fitted perfectly inside him, as if he’d been created for Jaskier. Perhaps he was. Perhaps they were destined from the beginning of time to meet, to mate, no matter what or who they were.

Jaskier’s arms were wrapped tight around his torso. Jaskier was—shaking so hard in his embrace. Of course, it was Jaskier’s first time. He had to remember that.

“S’all right,” he rasped, his eyes flickering shut. “S’all right, my love.”

Jaskier moaned into the side of his neck.

He moaned with Jaskier as his beautiful mate withdrew halfway, cock sliding past the swollen lips of his extremely sensitive slit. He cried out at the forceful thrust in. Gasped at the next one that immediately followed.

Jaskier released his neck, raising that dark-haired head.

“Geralt—I’m sorry,” Jaskier gasped. “I can’t—”

Geralt shushed Jaskier’s needless apology by dragging down his mate’s head with one hand to kiss him for the first time. The crush of their parted, pliant lips was electrifying. Jaskier’s fangs tapped his but he didn’t give a damn.

Jaskier tautened from head to tail fin. Then, after another hard thrust, an erratic one, Jaskier came deep inside him, fervently moaning into his mouth. He could feel Jaskier’s warm semen splash his insides. He felt proud—but also guilty.

He was infertile.

Jaskier didn’t know.

Jaskier was far from done.

“In me,” Jaskier gasped, blue eyes wide and wild. “Come in me, Geralt, please—”

Jaskier’s cock retracted from his tingling body with an easy glide. It withdrew into its inner sac, revealing an already engorged orifice under it, ready for Geralt’s cock.

The puffy lips of their slits were of a similar crimson color. But those iridescent scales seemed to make Jaskier’s slit even more eye-catching, and that beckoning orifice even more arousing.

Who was Geralt to deny his beloved prince?

He rolled them so Jaskier lied in the nest.

His cock slipped out of its inner sac. He didn’t think it big, but he knew mutants like him were larger than the average merman. His brothers in the School of the Shark were of similar size, and would gloat about merfolk across the Briny waxing poetic about their “monster cocks”.

He didn’t like that. He didn’t need another reason to be deemed a monster.

But it appeared he needn’t worry about Jaskier thinking of him that way: Jaskier was staring at his cock as if it was a most succulent meal.

“By the gods,” Jaskier murmured, “how will that fit in me?”

“You’ll stretch.” When Jaskier glanced up with those awed eyes, he added, “Trust me.”

Jaskier’s tongue flitted out to lick across those plump, so very kissable lips.

“You’ll come inside me?”

“Yes,” Geralt replied, although it was with a twinge in his chest.

Jaskier didn’t know.

Jaskier would surely leave him if he knew Geralt couldn’t—

“Stop that, you _broody_ , gorgeous boor.”

Geralt blinked. He let Jaskier grasp his upper arms and pull him down until their bodies were pressed together once more.

“Whatever it is you’re thinking, you’re wrong.”

“I—” Jaskier gave him a narrow-eyed glower. He cleared his throat. “I will do as you wish.”

He meant it. He would give Jaskier whatever he could. Do whatever he could, because he wanted to see that sweet, loving smile again and again. That fin-tingling smile that was for him.

“Geralt,” Jaskier growled, his eyes crinkled and twinkling. “Get inside me. Now.”

Geralt let out his own growl, one that rumbled with mirth and no small amount of lust—and love. Jaskier was his mate. Jaskier was a prince who chose _him_ out of all the merfolk in the Briny.

If this was a dream, he never wished to wake up.

He swooped down to claim Jaskier’s supple lips with his own. He kissed his way down that soft jawline to that long, pale neck. Nipped it with his teeth. Licked and sucked on it. He tangled their tails. Stroked Jaskier’s side fins. He ran his fingers through Jaskier’s chest hair. Tugged on it, and reveled in the low moan it elicited.

He lined up his cock with Jaskier’s welcoming orifice.

Jaskier’s chest started to heave under his hand.

He gave Jaskier’s neck one last kiss and lick. He lifted his head.

He wanted to watch Jaskier’s face while Jaskier came again, with him locked deep inside.

He pushed in carefully. He didn’t want to hurt his beloved mate. He was torn between watching his cock stretch Jaskier open, and watching Jaskier’s eyes go so round, lips part so sensuously.

A shattered moan flowed from Jaskier’s mouth the deeper Geralt pushed. He chose to gaze down at his mate’s pleasing face, carding his fingers through that dark, medium-length hair, rejoicing in the rapturous arch of Jaskier’s body against his.

“You’re mine, Jaskier. _Mine._ ”

Jaskier was quaking by the time he was fully seated inside. He almost shut his eyes from the astonishing pleasure of Jaskier squeezing tight around him, but he didn’t. He didn’t want to miss a second. He wanted to remember it all for the rest of his life.

The rest of their life.

“Yours,” Jaskier gasped.

Jaskier clutched at his shoulders. Flailed that magnificent, ruffled tail about in his ecstasy, shredding parts of the nest. Bits of seagrass flew up in the water.

Geralt didn’t care about that. His attention was wholly focused on his mate’s needs.

Jaskier wanted him to come inside him—and that was exactly what he was going to get.

Jaskier’s lips quivered as Geralt withdrew, slow and steady, until he was almost popping out. He thrust in at the same speed, gauging Jaskier’s state of body and mind from those big blue eyes.

Jaskier was trying his best to not close his eyes too. Jaskier wanted to remember every second of their first mating too.

“Harder,” Jaskier demanded, barely above a whisper. “Faster.”

Geralt’s lips quirked in a thrilled smile.

“As you wish,” he said.

He pulled out completely.

He almost chuckled at the distressed whine Jaskier let out. He gripped Jaskier’s hips. Lined up his cock with Jaskier’s orifice again.

He plunged in to the hilt in one powerful thrust. Jaskier threw back his head with a high-pitched cry, then again at the next powerful thrust.

There was no stopping Geralt now.

Geralt gritted his teeth. Maintained a ferocious rhythm and depth, glorying in the slaps of their scaled lower bodies, in Jaskier’s engorged slit sucking him in with every hilt-deep thrust. Their thrashing tails whipped apart the nest of weaved seagrass.

Jaskier’s ragged moans and whines were as melodious as his singing. Jaskier could only cling onto him, staring helplessly up at him, forever changed by this new, devastating deluge of pleasure.

It was impossible to keep this dance going for eternity.

But they would dance again.

Jaskier came first, and it was a vision Geralt would always treasure, no matter how many times they danced this way. Jaskier’s mouth gaped in a soundless cry. Jaskier stiffened and tightened agonizingly around his cock, then quaked with an orgasmic convulsion, head flung back.

The swollen lips of Jaskier’s slit clamping so hard around his cock, locking him deep inside Jaskier, was what obliterated Geralt. He came with an elated snarl, his hips jerking, his chest bulging with fulfillment at Jaskier beholding him with so much pride, so much _love_.

He had given his beloved mate what he’d asked for. He had done well.

“You’re mine,” Jaskier rasped with so much wonder. “You’re really mine.”

They were still intimately joined. Jaskier was hugging his shoulders, and he was hugging Jaskier’s slim waist. They revolved in the water.

Bits and strands of seagrass floated around them. Jaskier brushed some away from their contented faces.

“Will you sing for me again?”

Jaskier tilted his head to one side. His lips slowly curved up in a jubilant smile.

“Always,” Jaskier vowed, and Geralt knew it was true.

Geralt’s eyes fluttered open in the coziness of his cave. He stayed still, his thick tail curled around an iridescent one, his white hair floating in the water. His head was on a bundle of seagrass he’d salvaged from what had been left of his nest. Another head lied close to his.

A head of dark hair on another bundle of seagrass, with long, thick eyelashes fanning pale, smooth cheeks.

He stared at his beautiful, slumbering mate. At the prince of Lettenhove, who’d lived all his life around precious stones and treasures—and considered Geralt beautiful too.

He stretched out a hand to tenderly trace dark, shapely eyebrows with callused fingertips. To skim the slope of that endearing nose, and revere the suppleness of those plump lips, and honor the marvel that was their possessor.

He wasn’t asleep. He wasn’t dreaming.

This was real.

From beyond his cave, he could hear his seahorses in their coral pen, blowing out bubbles through their snouts or nickering. He had to feed them later. Let them out and shepherd them to that tall rock arch near his territory to graze.

But for now, he was content to be here.

For now, his whole world lied beside him on the cave floor, smiling softly while dreaming of something gorgeous.

“Jaskier,” he whispered.

Jaskier slept on, with so much trust in him to watch over them. He had weapons stored in a cavity under a large rock farther inside the cave. An axe. A dagger. His two invaluable swords Vesemir had bestowed upon him after he’d passed the various Trials at Kaer Morhen, the rock fortress that had been his childhood home, so far away from here.

He was adept at wielding all of them.

He supposed Jaskier’s guards were too.

How did a prince sneak out of a guarded palace, a _kingdom_ to cavort with a solitary, mutant merman like him? Multiple times, no less?

He could see in his mind Jaskier swimming through an opulent palace, adorned with necklaces and bracelets weighty with sparkling gemstones. He could see Jaskier’s blue eyes lined in black, heavy-lidded with boredom while they skimmed over yet another dull royal feast and its simpering guests. Jaskier, ignoring Valdo the Pillock despite the king and queen of Lettenhove glaring at him. Jaskier, wishing he wasn’t here.

Jaskier, gazing out the carved window of his royal chamber at the vast ocean beyond, wishing he was out there instead—free to sing, dance, and play whenever he liked. Free to choose for himself.

“Why me?” Geralt whispered.

Jaskier still slept on. That soft, tiny smile remained.

Yes, with the sort of swimming speed and whim for disguise Jaskier had, Geralt could see Jaskier slipping past even the most vigilant of guards. Perhaps there were secret passageways in the palace. Perhaps Jaskier bribed the guards with those gemstones that meant nothing to him.

But somehow, against all the odds in the Briny, Jaskier had ended up at that tall rock arch when he’d been there too. Perhaps Jaskier had swathed his head and body with seaweed at the time. Concealed himself behind an outcrop. Peered past its edge at him and Roach, undetected.

And perhaps, if the light from the Surface had turned his white hair into a radiant crown, it might have turned Jaskier’s eyes into sparkling sapphire stones. It might have illuminated him from behind, reflecting off teal scales, or turquoise streaks on blends of red and gold.

Jaskier would have been utterly beautiful, even then.

“Why me?” Geralt whispered again.

It wasn’t Jaskier who answered him—but Eskel, his closest brother from the School, in an old memory whose sting was ever fresh, especially now.

_This is no way to live, brother. You know._

Eskel had met him at the marked border of his territory. Had tried to coax him back to Kaer Morhen, to live with their small, close-knit colony of brothers again.

Eskel’s vivid red and gold tail was sprinkled with black patches. His black tail fin had gently brushed Geralt’s.

Geralt hadn’t flinched from it.

 _We may be mutants, but we are still merfolk,_ Eskel had murmured. _We still need each other._

The snarled words that’d burst from Geralt’s mouth hadn’t so much as made Eskel blink.

_I need no one. And the last thing I want is someone needing me._

Eskel’s familiar, scarred face had softened—and that had hurt Geralt more than any blade could. Eskel’s profound reply, said with a benign smile, had hurt even more.

_Someone out there will want you, Geralt. If the gods are kind, you will want them too. And you will be happy._

He’d swum away without another word, his hands fisted at his sides, his chest aching. Eskel hadn’t called him back, but Eskel had known better than to do that.

Eskel had always known better.

Eskel had known, even as he’d glared and snarled those words, that they had been lies.

And now, here he was, resting beside the one who wanted him, the one whom he wanted. The one who needed him, despite being beautiful beyond explanation, being royalty and wealthy beyond comprehension. The one he needed—and the one who made him happy.

Gods could be kind after all.

He gazed with warmth at Jaskier’s ageless face. He gazed with pride at his shark medallion nestled in that dense chest hair, at the tranquil smile he had brought to his beloved mate’s lips.

He glided closer to Jaskier. Pressed a kiss to the skin between those shapely eyebrows.

“Why not me,” he whispered.

The cave didn’t collapse. The gods didn’t punish him with instant death. Jaskier didn’t vanish from his sight.

Jaskier let out a low moan. Snuggled closer to him, then sighed with contentment, still fast asleep. He hugged Jaskier tight with both arms.

He shut his eyes. He basked in the press of Jaskier’s hirsute chest to his, the nuzzle of Jaskier’s nose to his cheek, the caresses of Jaskier’s delicate side fins on his skin and scales.

“Why not me,” he declared, and this time, he believed in those words.

He finally believed.

After awakening together, they’d mated again, slow and easy, with Jaskier crooning and moaning into his ear while he sank so deeply into that lean, dazzling body. He’d come inside Jaskier to his mate’s enthusiastic encouragement, biting at that long, pale neck while he did so.

He had to tell Jaskier about his infertility. Whatever choices they were going to make from here on, he had to tell his mate. His _royal_ mate, whose parents were desperate enough to attempt a forced match of their son to another prince.

But it was probably best not to do it now.

Not while he was enjoying the spectacle of Jaskier trying to apologize to Roach for his mistreatment of her.

“I’m not going anywhere!” Jaskier exclaimed, slender hands on hips, arms akimbo. “So the least you can do is cooperate with me and accept my so very sincere apology!”

Roach’s head was turned away. She blew out a harsh stream of bubbles from her snout.

Jaskier had no idea Geralt was hovering at the stable’s entry. Jaskier’s back was turned towards him, which was a good thing because Jaskier would have seen his tremoring lips. Jaskier sputtered.

“ _Excuse_ me, it _is_ sincere! How dare you say otherwise!”

Roach blew out another harsh stream of bubbles that sounded very much like a fart.

“Like I said, I was _pretending_ to steal you. Haven’t you heard of _acting_ before?”

Geralt bit his lower lip and wisely kept quiet.

Roach was his most loyal seahorse. He knew her so well. Although it seemed like she was rebuffing Jaskier, Roach actually _liked_ the prince. She was never subtle about showing animosity to anyone she didn’t like: she would have already turned her back on Jaskier and ignored him.

She turned her narrow head. Squinted her round, orange eyes at Jaskier. She burped out a stream of bubbles in Jaskier’s direction. In return, Geralt heard more than saw Jaskier stick his tongue between his lips and make an equally flatulent noise.

A snort escaped Geralt’s nose.

Jaskier swiveled around with a blank expression. Then he swiveled back to face Roach—only to spin around to face Geralt again with wide eyes, noticing his presence at last.

Geralt sucked in his lips while Jaskier hastily collected himself. Jaskier swiveled back to face Roach. Turned his nose up at her. Said haughtily, “Good cycle to you.”

He swam away from her, his nose still turned up, eyes shut.

Roach let out a boisterous fart—from her posterior.

With a comical look of outrage, Jaskier spun around and exclaimed at her, “I said _good cycle to you!_ ”

An amused chuckle erupted from Geralt’s mouth. It was a strange but wonderful thing, for he couldn’t recall the last time he’d laughed at all before he met Jaskier.

Jaskier swam up to him with a pleased smile, already forgetting Roach’s last word. Jaskier touched his bowed lips.

“There it is,” Jaskier murmured, tracing his smile with smooth fingertips. “One more today.”

Geralt nipped at them. He pulled a happy Jaskier into his arms. They coiled their tails together as they floated out of the stable and into the open water, nuzzling each other’s faces.

Jaskier had already helped him gather fresh seagrass earlier, to weave into a new nest that would fit them both. Now they had to let the seahorses out and herd them to the tall rock arch, and hunt for fish for themselves too.

“Roach likes you,” Geralt said.

Jaskier made a face.

“She has a very strange way of showing it.”

“Hmmn. I’ve been told she’s a lot like me.”

Jaskier gave him a meaningful glance. “Oh? Does she also have the tendency to deeply suppress things instead of talking about them?”

Geralt opened his mouth. Then he pressed his lips together.

“Uh hm,” Jaskier said.

Geralt opened his mouth again. “I—I have to tell you something. About me.” Jaskier gazed at him with an approving expression. He cleared his throat, then mumbled, “I can’t—give you offspring, Jaskier.” He lowered his eyes. “I’m absolutely infertile.”

He didn’t know how Jaskier was going to react. He knew how many other merfolk would react, but Jaskier wasn’t them. Jaskier had looked at him, at his white hair, his amber eyes, his scarred body—and fallen in love with him at first sight anyway.

“Well.”

Geralt slowly raised his eyes.

Jaskier sighed, then added, “That’s a relief. I have zero interests in having any hatchlings.”

Geralt blinked. Jaskier, the prince of Lettenhove and future heir of the kingdom, _didn’t_ want offspring?

“You’re—okay with me being—”

Jaskier cupped his cheeks with both hands.

“Geralt, I love you, regardless of whether you can have hatchlings or not.” While Geralt reeled from hearing those three words for the first time from Jaskier, his beautiful mate also said, “But if you really want them—I’m sure Dandy will help me, and keep our parents away.”

Geralt blinked again, then said, “Dandy?”

Jaskier shrugged. “Dandelion, my older brother.”

Geralt’s eyes widened. Jaskier _wasn’t_ the heir to the throne?

“Dandy’s all set to be the next king." Jaskier rolled his eyes. "Valdo is _my_ problem because Dandy hates him even more." Jaskier pursed his lips. “Well, he _was_ my problem.” He smirked at Geralt. “Since you’re officially my gorgeous mate for life, I’ve lost my dynastic rights _and_ that pillock has no excuse to mate with me anymore.”

Geralt let out a loud, vibrating growl.

“I’ll tear him apart.”

Jaskier gazed at him from under long, thick lashes. Jaskier caressed his chest and shoulders with a low, satisfied hum.

“You really would, wouldn’t you, my big, strong warrior?”

Geralt bared his fangs in a wide grin. Jaskier let out a mellifluous laugh, his blue eyes crinkling. He kissed Geralt fondly on the cheek.

“Much as I appreciate it, I rather we retain our freedom.” Jaskier swam backwards out of his arms, but grasped both his hands, leading them towards the coral pen. “I was thinking maybe we could travel across the Briny some day. With Roach!”

Geralt tilted his head to one side, curious.

“Probably we’d have to sell the other seahorses first. But it’d be fun, darling!” Jaskier grinned. “We’ll have ourselves some adventures! Great ones I can sing about!”

Geralt’s lips quirked up.

“You’ll write more songs about me?”

Jaskier’s expression softened. He murmured, “They’ll always be about you, my big, old, crotchety beauty. About the—” Jaskier grinned again, his fangs glinting under the light from the Surface. “The legendary White Shark, friend of all merfolk, prevailing champion of the Briny!”

Geralt’s smile grew. He could see that future: Jaskier, Roach, and him, journeying across the vast, abundant terrains of the Briny towards Kaer Morhen. Jaskier, wearing his medallion, gripping Roach’s reins, while he swam beside them, his sheathed swords strapped to his back.

It was a marvelous vision. It was a marvelous adventure that was within their grasp.

“It’s a good start,” he said, pulling Jaskier back into his arms. “But first, the seahorses have to graze.”

Jaskier kissed him on the lips, and still they tingled with joy like the first time.

“Then we’ll look for the necklace and tablet in the kelp forest.”

Geralt felt a twinge in his chest. It faded fast: he hadn’t known what those priceless gifts meant. He knew now. He was certain they were still where he’d thrown them, waiting for him and Jaskier to retrieve them.

He grasped Jaskier’s nape. Drew Jaskier close for another kiss, then another longer, open-mouthed one.

“Jaskier.”

Jaskier rubbed their noses together, his eyes shut. Geralt waited until Jaskier was looking him in the eye again to speak.

“Jaskier.” He swallowed hard. “I love you.”

Geralt would never tire of seeing that tremulous albeit ecstatic smile light up that ageless, sweet face. He would never tire of feeling Jaskier’s hands caress his cheeks with such reverence, such adoration.

“I know,” Jaskier murmured.

They untied the coral pen’s gate together.

Geralt had witnessed his seahorses rush out of the pen a thousand times. But with Jaskier, everything was new. Jaskier whooped, clapping his hands, his fins waving with delight.

And on his own volition, Geralt smiled—a serene mutant merman who’d found his happiness at last.

**FIN**


End file.
